Nasty Little F! - ers - aka Grubs

144 Pages·2010·0.69 MB·English

by  McAfee David

NASTY LITTLE F!#*ERS
(Previously released as GRUBS)
By
David McAfee
Kindle Edition
Cover Design by David McAfee
Cover image from stock.xchng
This is a work of fiction. The events depicted in this story are entirely
products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as fact.
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may
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Visit David McAfee on the web at mcafeeland.wordpress.com
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Twitter: @DavidLMcAfee
Or email: [email protected]
For Hennah
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
BONUS MATERIAL
Excerpt from TORMENT, by Jeremy Bishop
Excerpt from 33 A.D., by David McAfee
NASTY LITTLE F!#*ERS
Prologue
The cold woke Eddie Bayer up from a deep sleep. He shivered and reached
behind him to zip up the sleeping bag, then realized he was alone. No wonder he
was cold. Becky usually snuggled up to him on these camping trips, and together
the two of them could stay nice and toasty. But not tonight. Tonight Becky was
out for some reason. Probably just went to the bathroom again. That woman
lived on the pot most days.
“Becky,” he called, his voice muffled a bit by the sleeping bag over his head.
After a minute or so with no reply, he sat up. The bag fell from his shoulders and
gathered in a thick bunch at his waist. The first thing he noticed was the chill.
Even in late Spring, the woods of northern Maine could get pretty damn cold.
The days were fine, but the nights could freeze your nuts off. He took his flannel
jacket out of his pack and shoved his arms through the sleeves, then he grabbed
his wool-lined boots and put them on. He’d been sleeping in his flannel pajama
pants and a T-shirt, so he should be all right to step outside the tent for a few
minutes to find Becky. He grabbed his battery-powered Coleman lantern, pulled
his toboggan on his head, and moved toward the front of the three-chambered
tent.
When he got to the tent flap he found it unzipped. That wasn’t like Becky, she
knew better than to leave the tent open to small animals and other insects. It just
wasn’t a smart thing to do when camping out in the woods. Their body heat
could attract any number of snakes or lizards looking for warmth; even small
mammals like mice or chipmunks would be drawn to it. To say nothing of bigger
mammals that might be attracted to the smell of their food. What the hell was
she thinking?
“Becky?” he called again. He stepped out of the tent and his boot squelched
into the hard packed dirt of the clearing. That wasn’t normal, either. He
examined the bottom of his shoe and found a group of flattened grubs stuck to it.
Fat little bastards, about two inches long and off-white in color except for the
ends, which were scarlet. They looked a bit like mealworms, but bigger. He
picked up a twig from the ground and scraped the tiny corpses off his boot. In
doing so he noted several more of the little critters squirming around the tent.
Where’d they come from? Weird. No big deal, they couldn’t get to his food.
Besides, he had bigger things to worry about, like his missing wife.
“Becky? Come on, now, where are you?” Still no answer. He stepped into the
clearing, away from the tent, and flashed the lantern around the campsite. No
sign of Becky, but the area around the tent was crawling with more grubs.
Thousands of the little buggers! Squirming, writhing and loping along the
earthen floor of the clearing like a disgusting larval sea.
“Gross,” Eddie said, stepping around a large concentration of the things. They
were devouring a small animal, perhaps a squirrel. There’d be a neat little
skeleton there in the morning, by the looks of it. He’d have to remember to grab
it and take it home to his son, Ricky. The boy could use it for Science class or
something. Then something shiny amidst the pile of grubs caught the lamplight
and threw it back at him. He bent down for a closer look.
It wasn’t a squirrel.
Becky’s diamond engagement ring winked at him in the light of the Coleman.
It took a moment for that to sink in, and when it did the realization pulled Eddie
from his feet and left him kneeling in the dirt next to the writhing mound of
grubs. The bastards weren’t eating a small mammal; they were eating his wife’s
left hand!
“What the…?” He reached down and picked up the hand, then brought it up to
get a closer look at it. Too many grubs squirmed along its surface for him to see,
so he gave the hand a little shake. Several grubs fell off, but he also managed to
splatter himself with some of his wife’s blood that was still left in the hand. He
reached up and wiped the blood off his face, leaving a pale red smear on his
cheek. Still warm.
Then he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. He looked down to see one of the grubs
burrowing its jaws into his flesh. Eddie winced and grasped it between his thumb
and forefinger, then yanked it out. He choked back a yelp as the little fucker took
a BB-sized piece of his flesh with it when it came free.
He held the grub up to the light, watching it squirm between his fingers as it
swallowed its prize. Mother fucker! Eddie squeezed until the grub popped, and a
greenish ooze ran down his fingers. That’d teach the thing. He looked down at
the wound on his leg. A small hole, with a line of blood pouring from it. Not too
big, though. The adhesive bandages in the first aid kit should suffice to cover it
up. Damn thing stung like hell, though. As he stood to fetch the kit, an odd
warmth began to spread through the area around the bite. His first thought was
poison, but then the pain faded a bit. A natural anesthetic, then, like the kind
leeches and ticks used so they could eat in peace.
Fuck that! He shot to his feet and stomped on the nearest pile of grubs,
smiling as he heard their tiny bodies squish under his boot. “Where the hell is
Becky?” He shouted. “Where is she?” But of course the grubs didn’t answer.
He felt another sting. And another, as a third, fourth, and fifth grub latched
into the skin of his arm. He swatted them off and then flicked away the two or
three that were starting to burrow into his leg. Each bite was like a small prick of
fire burning into his skin, followed by that strange warmth. Then one lit upon his
face and promptly started to chew its way into his cheek.
He screamed and staggered backward, squashing more grubs under his boot.
He looked down at the ground and almost wet himself. There were millions of
the little grubs. Millions! All around him. And the smell! Like rotting fruit mixed
with the scent of blood. His blood. Becky’s blood.
“Get off me, you little fucker!” He reached up to his cheek and pulled the grub
from his face, tearing a piece of his cheek out along with the grub.
He turned, doing his best to ignore the bites on his arms and legs, which had
become too numerous to count and instead merged into one long, painful
sensation. He ran through the squirming sea of larvae, headed for the creek
nearby. Hopefully he could drown the bastards.
That’s when he saw Becky. She stood on the path that led to the creek, her
pale, waxen skin writhing and pulsing as hundreds of the little grubs feasted on
her flesh. Blood covered her whole body. It poured from the many tiny bites as
well as a few large sections of her throat where the flesh hung in ragged chunks.
Her eyes, glazed and unfocused, seemed to stare at nothing, and he winced as a
grub on her right cheek squirmed over to her eye and buried its jaws into her iris.
Becky didn’t seem to notice. She held the stump of her left arm out to him, and
half a dozen grubs fell from her forearm to land in the leaves with a sticky
smack.
“Ish all ‘ight, Eddie,” she said, her voice sounding like mush because of the
grubs chewing on her tongue. “Zhey won’ ‘urt you.” She reached for him with
her other hand, and he watched, momentarily paralyzed as his wife’s grub-
covered fingers wrapped around his own. Several of the grubs left Becky’s hand
and moved to his, immediately burrowing their faces into the flesh of his fingers.
Now Eddie did scream. He shook his hand to get rid of the feasting larvae,
then shoved his wife to the ground and sprinted down the path, still headed for
the creek.
Halfway there, he stumbled and hit his knees. The tiny bites continued, but
they didn’t hurt as much. He looked around and saw hoards of the grubs
crawling toward him, around him, even on him. They squirmed between his
fingers and writhed in his boots. They’d somehow gotten under his socks and
started chewing on the webbed flesh between his toes. Lord help him, there were
even some in his boxers, eating away at his privates like some sick, adolescent
nightmare. Tears streamed from his eyes as he crawled toward the creek, still
hoping to drown the fuckers.
The grubs continued to bite and chew at him, but the pain was somehow
muted and distant, like it was happening to someone else. He realized he was
crawling, and wondered why. Then he remembered the creek. Thirsty. That’s it.
He needed something to drink. He looked at a grub that had burrowed its toothy
little head into the back of his hand and halfheartedly swatted it away.
“Later,” he said. “Water first. Thirsty.”
He scooted forward a few more feet and made it to the edge of the creek bed
before his strength gave out and he lay down in the mud. He was so tired. Just a
little nap. Then he’d get his drink. He closed his eyes, and when he felt tiny bites
on his eyelids and inside his mouth, he didn’t bother shooing them away.